


Collision

by mangocianamarch



Series: Le Livre de L'abondance par La Dame Marciana [1]
Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangocianamarch/pseuds/mangocianamarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders Johnson is a smug little dickhead. John Mitchell is a broody little bastard. Living together may or may not be the best idea, especially when Anders isn't quite like anyone Mitchell has ever had to deal with before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is a pig and a dickhead, and Mitchell is having none of his shit any longer.

**Chapter 1**

Confrontation

Mitchell looks up at the sound of a door closing, cup of hot tea in his hand. Anders saunters out of his room, last night’s conquest attached to his lips by her own and mewling as she backs up towards the front door. Mitchell follows their rather sloppy progress with eyes he imagines are rather judging as the girl giggles at something Anders just told her. She hands Anders a tiny piece of paper, and Anders takes her hand and kisses her knuckles as he takes the paper from her, playfully biting at her knuckles and sending her into another fit of giggles.

"You’ll call," she says, and Mitchell sips from his tea to keep from snorting out loud.

"Wait," is Anders’ only reply as he opens the door for her. Another quick kiss (Mitchell swears he saw tongue), and she’s gone. "And wait, and wait, and wait," Anders mutters smugly to himself as he peruses what is apparently her phone number. With the tiniest of smirks, he crumples up the piece of paper and tosses it into the nearest trash bin as he joins Mitchell in the kitchen.

"That’s not very nice," Mitchell says as Anders moves around, making coffee.

"What isn’t nice?" Anders asks, clearly only half-awake.

"What you just did, with her number and all," Mitchell answers into his tea, "That wasn’t very nice."

"Yeah, well…" Anders replies as the coffee starts brewing, "Neither am I. I’m surprised this is still news to you, Mitchell, you’ve been living under my roof for weeks."

Mitchell shakes his head. "It’s all just a game to you, isn’t it?" He asks, stirring his tea with a spoon but without much interest in it, "All these women, all the sex…It doesn’t mean much to you, does it?"

"Are we sure we’re close enough friends to be having this conversation already?” Anders snorts as he grabs a nearby apple and bites into it, “Can you fault me for wanting to enjoy what life has to offer me? And if by ‘a game,’ you mean it’s fun for me, then yes, as a matter of fact, but again, I don’t know why this has escaped you until now."

"So you genuinely find sport in sleeping with every woman that shows the tiniest bit of interest in you and then tossing her aside like yesterday’s news, is that it?" Mitchell says.

As the coffee finishes beside him, Anders cocks his head to one side, squinting at Mitchell. "Are you feeling okay?" he inquires, the smallest of grins in the corner of his lips, "One too many drinks last night, mate? Not quite awake yet this morning? Or have you got a little vampire fever or something?" He puts the back of his hand to Mitchell’s forehead, but Mitchell, annoyed, bats it away.

"Get your head out of your ass and quit being a dick for like two seconds," he spits out, "I don’t understand how and why it’s so easy for you to go through women like you go through clothes. These are human beings with feelings, for fuck’s sake. They’re not like matches you throw away once you’ve lit a candle."

"Except that I can," Anders counters as he pours himself some hot coffee, "Because just in case we’re forgetting, I’m a god. It’s kind of what I do."

"Fuck off with that excuse, Anders," Mitchell says, exasperated, "You know that doesn’t actually count. You’re more human than godly, and you know it. The only thing remotely ‘god-like’ about you is that you’re basically forcing them to feel something for you that they may not even have been feeling at all, and even that, I have my doubts about."

"That’s coz your God was an idiot to give humans free will," Anders answers matter-of-factly, leaning against the counter and sipping from his coffee, "He’s let them do whatever the hell they want and run rampant all over the earth, and that’s why this world has gone to shit, your second life being a testament to that little golden nugget." He tilts his mug at Mitchell as if in salute. "I, on the other hand, have the tools to remedy that, simply by convincing them that what I want is what THEY want, because what WE want actually ends up being rather enjoyable, thanks very much."

"Do you HEAR yourself?" Mitchell asks, incredulous, "What makes you any different from a dictator or a communist?"

"The fact that it’s more about play than work for me," Anders replies with a wink.

Mitchell is THIS CLOSE to punching him right in his smug little minor god face. Anders, however, is not yet finished. "I find it absolutely interesting, by the way," he goes on, "that you, of all people, are taking the moral high ground on this. Have you had a good feed lately?"

"I’ve changed,” Mitchell manages to counter through gritted teeth, one hand balled into a fist.

"You sure about that, mate?" Anders teases, smiling into his coffee. "You and I are alike, you know. More alike than you probably know. More alike than you would probably LIKE."

Mitchell turns away from him, grip on the handle of his cup so tight it’s turning his knuckles white. "No, Anders," he says quietly, "I’m nothing like you. Not anymore. Do you have any idea how truly lucky you are? You can afford to enjoy sex the way you do, fucking ‘a la carte,’ without worrying that you’ll wake up in the morning to find a dead body beside you. You can make love to someone and feel nothing else but the passion and the intimacy. You can be THERE, present in that moment, and experience every last second of it as YOU, without worrying about blacking out and feeling something else take over you before you can even think about controlling yourself. You can have all that, and you’re choosing to waste it all on random, meaningless fucks."

Anders is quiet, and Mitchell can’t see it, but he’s not looking at him anymore. He’s staring into his coffee as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

"I can’t have that, Anders," Mitchell continues, running a gloved hand through his hair to keep his voice from rising needlessly, "I can’t enjoy it like you do. All it can be for me is carnal, and as much as I want more from it, I can’t get it. It comes with the territory. I can’t help it. I can’t control it. It becomes another way for the worst part of me to take over. I was in love once, and I wanted to be with her, and I couldn’t. I was afraid I’d hurt her, or worse. And here you are, giving it away like you’re Father Christmas or something."

There’s a heavy silence when Mitchell finally finishes his tirade, but it doesn’t last very long. Anders clears his throat, and in a low tone, asks, "And this affects me HOW?"

"Oh fuck you, you cold, unfeeling bastard!" Mitchell groans, nearly jumping out of his chair in frustration as he stands and confronts Anders to his face, "Don’t you get it at all, man?! For as long as I’ve been…THIS, I’ve hated it. I hate what I am! I’m not HUMAN anymore, Anders. I try hard, so fucking hard, to get some semblance of normal humanity back in my life. But here you are, throwing YOUR humanity away, and for what? Just so you can get your rocks off? Is that really all you want? Don’t you want something more than that?"

"I don’t need more than that, Mitchie boy," Anders replies with a smug smile, "I’ve been doing what I’ve been doing for as long as I can remember, and I’m doing just fine, if I do say so myself."

"You don’t need it, or you’re afraid of it?" Mitchell asks, and by the way the smirk is wiped completely off of Anders’ face, he can tell he’s hit a nerve, "Or maybe you don’t think you CAN have it? Maybe you think that without your stupid little powers, you can’t live your life the way you do. That’s it, isn’t it, Anders?"

"I use my powers because it’s FUN," Anders says darkly.

"You use your powers because it’s CONVENIENT," Mitchell shoots back, "You’ve been using your powers ever since you got them because you’re pretty damn sure that without them, nobody will give you the time of day, or the kind of attention you want. Even if that wasn’t true, you’re too scared to find that out for yourself. You’re afraid to not use your powers and let someone just BE in love with you of their own accord, so you MAKE them think the world of you, when really, there’s no need to FORCE them to want you. What if somewhere in the world – in this city, on this BLOCK, even – someone already IS in love with you, someone you’ve never met, or have never used your powers on? Wouldn’t that count for something?"

"Are you calling me a coward?" Anders asks, taking an almost unnoticeable step forward. It would have been effective as a threat if Mitchell wasn’t taller than him by almost a head. And if Mitchell was much less of a killing machine.

"If that's what it takes to make you fucking wake up and smell the roses," Mitchell hisses, "Then yeah, I suppose I am. You're an insensitive, pig-headed, oblivious coward, Anders Johnson."

"Oblivious?" Anders echoes, "Oblivious in what way? To what?!"

But Mitchell just glares at him wordlessly, panting a little from his own frustration with Anders.

"Oh, NOW you’ve run out of things to say?!" Anders laughs harshly, "Come the fuck on, Mitchell! Oblivious to WHAT?!"

Mitchell just shakes his head, and takes a deep breath to steady himself. He turns away then, grabbing his keys off of the hanger by the kitchen entrance. "I’m going out," he declares in a strange monotone, "don’t wait up for me or anything."

"Where are you going?" Anders asks, only slightly surprised to find himself caring what Mitchell’s answer might be.

"For a walk," Mitchell answers right away, grabbing a jacket, "I don’t know where to, and I don’t really care right now. I just need to get out. I need some air."

Before Anders can ask in retort why vampires would need air when they’re essentially reanimated dead bodies, Mitchell is out the front door, slamming it behind him.

**~ THE END (for now). ~**


	2. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders still doesn't get it. Mitchell may or may not be at breaking point.

**Chapter 2**

Revelation

“Where have you been?”

Mitchell doesn’t spare Anders a look as he walks back in after having spent nearly the entire day outdoors. He hangs his keys back on the hanger by the door, and goes right to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. “Out,” he answers monotonously, “Does it matter where I went?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Anders says, clearly choosing to ignore Mitchell’s comment.

“Always a dangerous happening, mate,” Mitchell replies, turning to lean against the counter. He tilts his glass of water in ironic salute at Anders, who is sitting on the couch in the living area.

“I’ve been thinking,” Anders repeats, “About what you said before you left. And you know what I’ve come to realize?”

“Enthrall me,” Mitchell says half-disinterestedly.

“I’ve realized you’re full of shit,” Anders tells him, matching his housemate sass for sass.

One eyebrow arches and raises itself so high on Mitchell’s forehead it could’ve disappeared into his hairline if it really wanted to. “How d’you figure that is then?” he inquires, sipping from his water, eyes never leaving Anders.

“Well, I’ll tell you, Mr Self-Pity,” Anders says, as if their having the world’s most pleasant conversation, “You talk a lot about love, and the power of love, and love in sex, and what love can do to a person, and what love can mean to someone, but there’s one thing you’ve never said about love, which is a shame because it might be the one true thing about love that you’ll ever say.”

“And what might that be, pray tell,” offers Mitchell from his corner in the kitchen.

“Love is an illusion,” Anders answers matter-of-factly, “It’s a security blanket. It’s just an idea, more than anything else, and all it does is give us false hope that there’s someone else who cares about us almost as we do ourselves. We don’t fall in love with people, we fall in love with the notion that other people find us suitable enough to spend some time and money on. We fool ourselves into thinking that coming home to someone at the end of the day and getting a big fucking hug from them will make everything okay when NOTHING is okay. D’you know what I mean?”

Mitchell’s reaction isn’t something that Anders expects. Instead of launching into another emotional tirade, completely with weepy face and aggressive curls, Mitchell lets out a little laugh, the corners of his mouth turning up as he actually grins, the bastard, and downs the rest of his water. He puts the glass down and cocks his head at Anders, seemingly regarding him.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Anders asks, confused and admittedly a little disappointed that he hadn’t managed to piss Mitchell off.

“I pity you,” Mitchell says softly and simply.

“I don’t need your pity,” Anders shoots back, “Not unless you pitied me enough to sleep with me to make me feel better about my self-loathing. Which, by the way, isn’t an invitation, it’s just one of the most effective strategies in the Anders Johnson Pussy Playbook.”

Anders shakes his head a little, but chuckles. “And that’s exactly why I pity you,” he explains, “Water?”

Anders shrugs acceptance, and Mitchell takes a glass and pours him some before refilling his own. Taking the two glasses in his hands, he joins Anders at the couch. Anders takes the water from him and drinks as Mitchell continues.

“You’ve never really been in love, have you?” he asks Anders, “Like, really in love?”

“I’ve seen what being in love does,” Anders says with an almost inaudible scoff, “Love made my older brother marry a woman who only thought she loved him. Love made my younger brother give up his god-hood to be with the woman he loved, only to have her completely forget who he was once he had turned human. That’s what love does, Mitch. It hurts people. I don’t do the pain thing, man. I’m not good with pain. Being in love isn’t for me, that’s for sure.”

“So that’s a ‘no’ to my question then,” Mitchell laughs, and it’s actually beginning to irritate Anders how Mitchell seems to have calmed down completely by now, “And I think that’s really sad.”

“That I’ve never had my heart ripped right out of my chest and trampled on and then chopped up and fed to a dog to shit out and throw in a river?” Anders asks, slightly incredulous.

“Kind of,” Mitchell chuckles, and there is sincere humor in it, which just infuriates Anders more, “That, and the fact that all you see about love is what it does TO you, instead of what it can do FOR you, and what YOU can do for someone else.”

“That would sound really important and meaningful,” Anders replies, “If it had any importance and meaning to me. Which it doesn’t.”

“What happened to you, Anders?” Mitchell inquires, squinting at him, “What made you so scared to be in love?”

“Sc-SCARED?!” Anders sputters, indignant, “Again with the cowardice thing, what _is_ it with you? I’m not SCARED -”

“But you are, mate,” Mitchell points out, finger tracing around the rim of his slightly filled glass so that a soft tune comes off of it, “You’re scared to be committed to someone longer than a couple of days, to give yourself up to a power completely beyond you. You’re scared that if you find the right person, you’ll lose yourself so much in them that you forget who you are, and why you do what you do now. You think love is pain and sacrifice, and you’re right. But it’s also about being complete, being whole, and being part of someone else. If there’s pain and sacrifice, we don’t have to go through it alone.”

“You sound a lot like my grandfather,” Anders mutters, “Especially when he’s high on shrooms. Are you tripping the light fantastic on me right now?”

“Have you ever met someone you couldn’t get out of your head?” Mitchell continues, “Someone you couldn’t stop thinking about? Someone who just instantly made you smile just by _existing_?”

“If it’s going to get you to cut the nonsense out so we can both get some sleep,” Anders remarks, “Then yes, as a matter of fact, but I was very young and I-”

“Didn’t know any better?” Mitchell finishes for him, and Anders scowls, “That’s the point of it. We’re not meant to know any better about love. It’s not something we can control or hope to understand. We’re meant to just let it happen to us.”

“You keep saying ‘we,’” Anders notices, “How can anybody love if their heart isn’t working anymore?”

A dark cloud passes over Mitchell’s face, and Anders can’t help but be smug. He’s finally hit a chord hard enough to actually shut the rambling little shit up. With a shrug, he leaves his glass on the table and makes for his bedroom.

He’s barely past the door when something big rams into him so hard and so fast that he has crossed the room and has ended up on his back on his bed in the blink of an eye. He finds himself staring up at Mitchell, who is holding him down (way too easy considering the size difference) and seems genuinely angry. Anders would be lying if he said he wasn’t just a tiny bit scared.

“Mitchell, what-” Anders starts.

“Shut up,” Mitchell hisses, and before Anders can do or say much more, Mitchell claims his mouth in a hot, searing kiss. Anders is too startled to respond until Mitchell breaks away.

“How dare you?” Mitchell growls at him, “How fucking dare you? You don’t know me. You don’t know _anything_ about me. You don’t get to say shit like that and get away with it.”

“Fine, I’m sorry,” Anders says, hoping to placate him, “I take it back.”

“I don’t think you mean it,” Mitchell says, and there’s a positively predatory look on his face as he lowers himself just a little too close to Anders’ exposed neck.

“Jesus, Mitchell!” Anders protests, squirming underneath him to try and get away, but Mitchell is stronger than him, supernaturally strong, “I said I was sorry!”

“Oh, I heard you,” Mitchell breathes against the skin of his throat, “But words are easy, Anders. You of all people should know that.”

“What do you want, asshole?” Anders spits out, “You wanna kill me, do it. Just fucking get it over with.”

“Again, too easy,” Mitchell replies, and Anders can practically hear the grin in his tone, “Too simple. Although you’ve been a little shit for as long as I’ve known you, so I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to the idea. Especially not when I can smell the fear on you. That’s bloody intoxicating. You know what else, Anders? I can feel the rush of your blood through your veins. I can hear your heartbeat, Anders. It’s going so fast right now I could probably dance to it.”

Anders just stares up at him, trying to keep his composure, as Mitchell places a hand over his heart.

“They’re all like that,” Mitchell says, and it seems to Anders he’s drifted off somewhere he can’t see, “when they realize what they’re facing. When they see it’s Death, not some mere mortal just looking for a couple of pounds and a good beating, that’s followed them down some dark alley, or invaded their room, or got them alone on some lonely harbor bench out in the middle of the night. But then the fangs are in, and they’re screaming and gasping and clawing at me, and all I can do is drink and drink and drink. Then the heartbeat slows, gradually, until it stops altogether. That’s when it all comes crashing down, I come back to myself, and I realize what I’ve just done. It could have been someone’s spouse, someone’s sibling, someone’s kid, and I just treated it like mere food, like it didn’t have a soul. It was easy until it was over. I’ve carried that with me since I became what I am. Don’t tell me my heart doesn’t work, _Bragi_. You have no idea, no fucking idea, how I work. Don’t give me a reason to show you.”

And with that, he lets go of Anders and unceremoniously leaves the bedroom. Anders lays there, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell just happened and how the fuck he just escaped with his life.

**_~ to be continued ~_ **


	3. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders may or may not be in deep shit.

**Chapter 3**

Reconciliation

  


Anders has come to positively **_hate_** living with Mitchell.

Everyday, every **_second_ ** that Mitchell is in the same space – hell, the same **_building_** – causes Anders to be jumpy. He has spent the past few nights sleepless, or otherwise sleeping with one eye open, afraid that Mitchell would attack him when he least expects it. It’s gotten to a point where he isn’t sure if it’s safer to be somewhere where he can see Mitchell, or be hiding from him and yet knowing that he’s just around.

Mitchell’s insufferably cheery demeanor isn’t helping at all.

Anders is sure Mitchell is doing all this deliberately, letting the paranoia settle and grow. The bastard must be enjoying it too, but Anders can’t honestly say he blames him; if the tables had been turned, he’d probably be doing a lot worse. But Mitchell hasn’t laid so much as a fingernail on him, hasn’t threatened him, hasn’t even taken the time to lecture him on anything. Mitchell just smiles at him, waves at him, helps around the flat, makes tea…It’s frustrating. He’s being so… ** _nice_**. Anders can’t help but wonder if the anticipation and paranoia themselves are Mitchell’s punishment for him. He certainly wouldn’t put it past the moody asshole.

Only he hasn’t been as moody as before, and that’s the problem. Anders can’t believe he’s actually missing Mitchell’s misery. At least it caused him to actually **_talk_** to him, and treat him like a **_person_ ** instead of making him feel like he’s next on Mitchell’s diet plan. At least Mitchell’s self-pity made Anders feel **_needed_** instead of **_wanted_** , which disturbs Anders to no end. Normally, he’s got absolutely no problem being **_wanted_** , but the way Mitchell probably wants him isn’t the kind of way he’s okay with. Not really.

So it’s totally understandable that Anders’ first impulse when Mitchell invites him to “hang out” and “get pissed” one night is to immediately hiss, “Fuck no.”

“Aww, come on!” Mitchell practically coos, “You’ve had a long week dealing with jerk-off brothers and idiot clients and that clingy little Idunn girl. Don’t you want to just unwind and get totally fucked up?”

“The offer is tempting, bro,” Anders says, keeping a good distance away from him (although he knows it’s not going to be much help) and choosing his words carefully, “But I think I’m just too exhausted to even **_feel_** tired. Does that make sense?”

“But what am I gonna do without my drinking buddy?!” Mitchell protests playfully, still smiling, still winking, still insufferably creepy.

“Look, don’t let me stop you from going out and having a good time,” Anders says, hoping to be rid of Mitchell at least for the night, “You go do what you want, I’d like to get some shut-eye anyway. I’m sure you’ll have tons of fun without me.”

“Oh really?” says Mitchell in a tone that Anders can only describe as fucking **_predatory_** , but when he looks up at Mitchell, he’s got that everything-is-sunshine-and-rainbows-and-nothing-hurts-(except maybe my fangs in your throat, but that’s details) smile plastered on his deceptively youthful face.

“I’ll just…” Anders trails off, pointing in the general direction of his bedroom, “You have a great night, Mitchie boy. Take your keys with you, coz I’m so not going to be bothered to let you in, whether or not I’m awake.”

**_Oh yeah, Anders, that’s right, sass him right out, that’s going to help you in the long run._ **

Mitchell almost looks sad. Almost.

“If you insist,” he says with a shrug, turning from the kitchen and grabbing his keys on the way out, “See you in the morning!”

“Only if I’m still alive,” Anders mutters darkly when the door slams shut. Breathing a sigh of relief that Mitchell is out of his hair at least for a few hours, he heads into his bathroom for a quick bath. After brushing his teeth and throwing on a cotton shirt and a pair of boxers, he throws himself onto his bed, falling asleep in minutes.

His eyes snap open after what feels like just a few seconds, but has in fact been several hours. As soon as his eyes focus in the darkness, the first thing they see are Mitchell hovering above him, the most bemused look on his face. Anders nearly jumps out of bed.

“Jesus, **_fuck!_** ” he exclaims, “Goddammit, Mitchell, what the fuck are you doing in my room?!”

Mitchell cocks his head to one side, looking rather like a curious kitten that’s just caught its first mouse. “I missed you,” he says simply.

“Flattered,” Anders replies, “But insanely creeped out at the same time. Do you mind?”

“It wasn’t the same without you,” Mitchell continues as if Anders hadn’t said anything, “It was lonely. **_I_** was lonely. It’s never the same without you.”

“You’re drunk, Mitch,” Anders says, but he can’t really smell alcohol on Mitchell’s breath.

“Nope,” Mitchell says, confirming Anders’ thoughts, “If I were, I wouldn’t be here.”

“That’s not exactly a comforting thought, mate,” Anders points out.

Mitchell chuckles, and Anders is slightly surprised that he actually has missed that sound. “No, it isn’t, is it?” Mitchell asks, “At least you know I’m not out there feeding on some poor, unfortunate soul.”

“There **_is_** that,” Anders agrees, “The question of what you’re doing here and why you’re on top of me still remains though.”

“You don’t like it?” Mitchell asks in reply.

“If I said no, would you back off?” Anders inquires of him.

The expression on Mitchell’s face softens. “Of course,” he answers, and somehow Anders knows he’s telling the truth, “But would you really say no?”

“Goddammit,” Anders sighs, “What do you actually want from me, Mitchell?”

Mitchell actually looks a little offended, hurt even. “I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you think,” Mitchell replies, “Not deliberately, anyway.”

“Could have fooled me,” Anders tells him.

Mitchell moves off of him, sitting back on his calves, shoulders slacking. He looks like he’s about 12 years old.

“You’re not the easiest person to live with,” Mitchell tells Anders, who sits up and shrugs by way of agreement, “And you’ve said some things that have definitely ticked me off. And I’ve also just felt so bad for you. I mean, seriously. I thought **_I_** had problems. Then one day, I realized why. It’s been strange, you know, feeling this way, especially since I haven’t felt this way about **_anyone_** in a long time. But I figured that instead of fighting it, I’d use it to help you.”

Anders is startled to realize he knows exactly what Mitchell is talking about, and exactly what Mitchell is saying. There’s a lump in his throat now, and all he can do is stare at Mitchell as if seeing him for the first time.

Mitchell shuffles a little closer to Anders. “I don’t know what happened to you the last time you really fell in love with someone,” he says, “I don’t know what made you turn away from the concept of being truly in love. Whatever it was, I can change that, if you let me.”

“This is so weird,” Anders breathes, “The other night, you were so ready to have done with me. Now, you’re fawning all over me like I’m the best thing since sliced bread.”

“I know it’s weird,” Mitchell says with a tiny smile, “But I’ve felt this way for a really long time, I just didn’t see it. That’s why I got so angry when you said that my heart probably doesn’t work anymore. I know I scared the living shit out of you, and I have to admit, I took some savage pleasure in it. But I’ve felt really bad about it since, and I just want to make it up to you.”

“Sometimes I think you’re too nice,” replies Anders, “Shouldn’t **_I_** be the one apologizing?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” Mitchell laughs, “This way is better though.”

And with that, he kisses Anders, but not the way he did the last time. This time it’s gentle, slightly tentative, and definitely sweet. Anders could swear he’s never been kissed like this by **_anyone_** , or if he has, he definitely doesn’t remember it being this… ** _good_**. He returns the kiss, and he feels Mitchell smile against his lips. Anders allows himself to be maneuvered backwards, until his back is against the headboard of his bed, Mitchell’s body between his legs. But when Mitchell’s hands find their way underneath his shirt and onto the skin of his stomach, Anders jerks a bit, letting out a tiny gasp of surprise.

“What?” Mitchell asks, confused.

“Cold hands,” Anders tells him, trying so very hard indeed not to laugh.

Thankfully, Mitchell does the laughing for them both. “Sorry,” he says, “Didn’t feed. Get used to it.”

He winks at Anders before attacking his lips with his own again, this time deeper, and surer. By the time Anders’ shirt comes off and Mitchell’s mouth is on the pulse point in his neck, teeth grazing but never breaking skin, Anders has the beginnings of an erection. He’s only able to wonder and be amazed at how quickly and easily that’s happened before Mitchell is moving downwards to take care of it with his mouth. Anders’ last coherent thought is that he really probably shouldn’t trust any appendage of his in the mouth of a vampire, but then Mitchell is sucking on him hard and good, and all sense and logic is immediately thrown out the window.

“Shush, Anders,” he thinks he hears Mitchell say, “It’s okay…Let me take care of you…”

When Anders wakes up the next morning, it’s to an empty bedside. As he rubs the sleep from his eyes, he realizes he doesn’t remember much of what happened the night before. He’s naked though, so it must’ve been a pretty good night.

Right?

**_Wait…Where’s Mitchell?_ **

**_~ TO BE CONTINUED. ~_ **


	4. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are definitely changing. Something may or may not be wrong with Mitchell, and it may or may not be affecting Anders greatly. A problem? Could be.

**CHAPTER 4**

Confusion

 

The morning after their first night together, Anders had woken up to an empty bedside. It would be an hour after Anders gets up out of bed to make coffee before Mitchell comes back, all leather jackets and kitten smiles.

“Do I smell coffee?” he asks, by way of greeting.

“Just made some,” Anders replies, “Where've you been?”

“Just out,” Mitchell answers with an air of cheery dismissal, “Why? Missed me?”

“Shut up,” Anders snorts, but behind his cup, he hides a tiny grin, “So...last night...”

Mitchell's smile is brighter than the sun. “Oh, we're gonna talk about it, are we?” he asks.

“Should we not?” Anders ponders.

“That depends,” Mitchell says, inching his way closer to Anders, “Would talking about it occupy that pretty little mouth of yours?”

“It usually does, yes,” Anders replies.

Mitchell takes Anders' mug from him and leaves it in the kitchen sink. “Let's not, then,” he says, and before Anders can answers him, Mitchell is kissing him hot and hungry. Mitchell's hands are everywhere, and before Anders knows it, they've fallen onto the couch, tugging at clothing until there's none between them. Mitchell's warm and very much naked body is writhing beneath Anders, and his breath is hot in his ear.

“Fuck me,” he whispers, hard and wanton and damn near desperate. As if for punctuation, he slides a hand lower until he has Anders' quickly wakening erection in his hand.

“Are you sure?” Anders pants as Mitchell strokes him tightly.

“Need it,” Mitchell groans, “Need _you_.” He bucks against Anders, cock grinding against his thigh.

“You shouldn't say such things,” Anders replies, kissing at Mitchell's throat, “Could go straight to my head.”

“That's not always a bad thing,” Mitchell points out, “Gives you something to live up to, doesn't it?”

“Good point,” Anders answers, “Not that I'd need it.”

Mitchell just chuckles.

\--+--+--+--+--+--

Two hours later, and Anders wakes to find himself sated but alone again. Mitchell is nowhere to be found in the house, and he's left his phone. It confuses and infuriates Anders to no end. The fact that Mitchell's disappearing act bugs the fuck out of him bothers him even more. When did he start caring enough about Mitchell to actually be pissed that he would just up and leave after sex, as if it's not something Anders is known to do himself? He's just a flatmate, isn't he? Albeit, an immortal, fanged, creature-of-the-night flatmate who just happens to have the hots for him, yes, but that's details. He can hardly believe he's preparing some sort of “Where the fuck have you been, where the hell do you go,” speech for when Mitchell comes back, but there it is, he's doing it, temper rising ever so slightly when he realizes Mitchell has taken his shirt with him. And no, he's not going to let that stupid little cupcakes-and-rainbows-and-sunshines-and-babies smile get in the way this time. He's really going to let him have it. Really. _Really._

When Mitchell finally does come back, though, a full two hours later, he looks pale and miserable, as if he had just dragged himself out of a river or something. He goes straight for the fridge, taking out a beer, and with just a finger to tell Anders not to bother him, he disappears into his room, slamming the door in Anders' face and locking himself in. Anders flips the door off, although he's got a sneaking suspicion Mitchell might be able to see it through the door.

Mitchell doesn't come back out until the sun has fully set, drenching the sky in a cheery orange that slowly bleeds into twilight purple. Anders returns from work just in time to see him wobble out of his door, curls still insufferably rebellious, skin pale as fuck all.

“Welcome back,” Anders remarks as he pours himself a shot of whiskey, “The world has missed you, prince of darkness.”

“Don't start,” Mitchell mutters, “Don't fucking start, I am in no mood for your shit right now.”

Anders watches as Mitchell goes for the fridge, burying his head in deep, only to growl in frustration when he realizes they're out of beer.

“I'm going out,” he declares, “I need a drink or two.”

“No, you're not,” Anders argues, grabbing him by the arm, “You're staying here. We're talking.”

Mitchell looks down at the hand gripping his bicep, then back at Anders' face, and for a fleeting moment, something dark seems to cross his expression. But then his eyes seem to re-focus, and then it looks as if he's just recognizing that it's Anders, and his expression softens somewhat. He allows Anders to maneuver him to the table and sit him down.

“Something's up with you,” Anders states, taking a seat across Mitchell, “Normally, I wouldn't give a fuck, but for some odd reason, I do. I'm not good with feelings, or brooding, or comforting anyone, Mitchell, so you best start explaining as plainly as possible.”

Mitchell's fingers are steepled on the table top, and he glares at them as if they've done him grievous wrong. “You wouldn't understand,” he says after what feels like an eternity.

“I work in PR, Mitch,” Anders reminds him, “Try me.”

Mitchell just shakes his head. “I'm not feeling well,” he murmurs, “I need to...”

Anders watches him rub his hands together as if to get more heat going. He doesn't blame him – New Zealand's weather is punishing at best. When Mitchell finally separates his hands, one goes to his mouth, his teeth nipping at his nails, while the other stays on the table, fingers tapping an impatient and inconsistent rhythm on the wood.

And then Anders understands.

“You can't,” he says, genuinely concerned, “You won't. You promised yourself.”

“I know I fucking can't,” Mitchell groans, “I know. It's just...I don't have a stash or anything, it's not like I can break into a hospital just to deprive them of blood donations. That's cruel. But I need... _something._ I'm _craving_ , Anders. That hasn't happened to me in a while. I'm worried, but I can't just let it go, it's not going to pass on its own, not for a long time. And don't tell me to do the animal thing, I've done that before, and...Yeah, just don't.”

“Fuck,” Anders breathes, rubbing at his face, “I'd like to help you, man, I honestly would. I just don't know how.”

“Don't you know, like, another god or goddess who can bleed but won't die or something?” Mitchell asks, but by the look on his face, he knows it's a far-fetched idea.

“Even if I did, what do I tell them?” Anders replies, “'Hey, how are you doing today? Do you mind lending me some of your blood, I've got a vampire friend who needs to eat or else he'll fuck shit up. Thanks ever so much, you're a doll.'”

Mitchell sighs, scratching at one furrowed brow. “I don't know why this is happening,” he says, “I had it under control. I did. I was fine up until a few days ago. And then it just came back with a passion. I don't know what's wrong.” He places his hands palms-up on the table and stares at them as if bidden to memorize every single line on them.

Anders feels sorry for him. Actually feels sorry for Mitchell. He's not sure that he knows what it feels like to have to control and fight one's own essence. He's Bragi, god of poetry, and fuck if he hasn't enjoyed every minute of it. He's never felt the need to fight it, or control it, because the most selfish thing he ever uses it for is to get a girl (or two) into his bed (okay, yes, fine, and a couple of men already). So how is he expected to help Anders out? And why does he feel the need to?

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck,” Mitchell growls, putting his head down on the table, one fist pounding down in frustration, “Someone just fucking kill me already, dear God.”

He's starting to sound like a misguided wannabe-emo teenager. Anders is far from amused, mainly because it's causing him problems as well. “Will alcohol help?” Anders asks him.

“I don't know,” Mitchell tells him honestly, “It might. D'you think I could get drunk enough to forget that I need to go drink someone dry?”

Anders winces a little at the thought. “Let's hope so,” he says, “Stay here, I'll go pick some up.”

“Can't we just go out or something?” Mitchell protests.

“Because putting you in the middle of a throng of hot-blooded, pissed-as-newts humans is a good idea right now, you mean?” Anders shoots back, “Stay.”

“Not your fucking pet,” Mitchell replies as Anders gets up and grabs his car keys.

“Right now, you might as well be,” Anders says, patting him on the shoulder, “Just give me 15 minutes.”

Mitchell takes his wrist before he can pull his hand away, and Anders stops in his tracks. Mitchell gets up too, and the look on his face is so pitiful and sad that Anders almost wants to hug him.

“I'm sorry,” Mitchell says softly, “I'm being weird, I know.”

Anders offers him a little smile, finding it easy to do so, and shrugs. “It's not everybody who gets to live with an ultra-cool 100 year old flatmate who doesn't look a day over 25,” he remarks, “So I figure you being weird should just come with the territory.”

As if in gratitude for understanding, Mitchell kisses him, and Anders returns it. It's a slow, sweet, sincere kiss, and when it ends, Anders is actually grinning. At least, until Mitchell ruffles his hair, giving him a close-mouthed smirk.

“Don't push it,” Anders warns him, chuckling a little despite himself, “Ugh, your hands are cold. I won't be long.”

He feels Mitchell's eyes on him as he leaves. For good measure, he locks the door behind him, trying not to let the thought that Mitchell has his own house keys and could very easily let himself out bother him.

But when he comes back 20 minutes later with as much booze as he could buy with the cash in his wallet (which is a considerable amount indeed), Mitchell is still there, waiting for him by the fish tank. He's got a little bit more color back, and seems to be in a cheerier demeanor than when Anders had left.

“Hark, miserable one,” Anders greets, raising the bags full of beer to show Mitchell, “The medicine man cometh, with remedy for what ails thee and thy troubled immortality.”

Mitchell laughs, and it's a fuller sound than it could have been half an hour ago. Anders is relieved. He cracks open a bottle and hands it over to Mitchell right away. He opens one for himself, and stands beside Mitchell.

“To wives and girlfriends,” Anders declares, raising his glass in toast. Mitchell does the same, and takes a swig, but Anders' toast isn't done yet. “May they never meet,” he adds before drinking from his own bottle, causing Mitchell to nearly spit out his beer.

“Fuck you,” he mutters with a laugh.

“I'm more interested in the drink right now, thanks,” Anders shoots back with a wink, “But ask me again in, I don't know, maybe half an hour, let's see what happens.”

Half an hour later finds them on Mitchell's bed, lying opposite to each other. Anders' feet are where Mitchell's head is, and vice versa. Mitchell has somehow lost his shirt, although Anders doesn't really mind. There's a silly half-smile creasing Mitchell's face too, and it's amusing Anders quite a bit.

“Feeling better?” he asks.

“Loads,” Mitchell replies, “It's still there, kind of, just bubbling, but you know, nothing I can't handle.”

“Are you sure?” clarifies Anders, “Coz I've heard you say that before, but look what was happening in the kitchen.”

“I don't even remember half of what I said in the kitchen,” Mitchell laughs, “Fuck, I don't even remember being in the kitchen.”

“Success then,” Anders answers, “Have another beer, see how much more you can forget.”

“I'm gonna have the worst hangover tomorrow,” Mitchell refuses, “No, trust me, you don't want to know what that's like...Holy shit, am I fucked up right now.”

Anders barks out a laugh, and sees Mitchell smiling almost serenely at him for it. He rubs at his own forehead, his own drunkenness coming to his consciousness.

“You are something else,” he hears Mitchell say, “You are something special, you know that? A special little snowflake.”

The mattress shifts underneath Anders, and when he opens his eyes, he finds Mitchell straddling him, flushed and grinning, warm hands on Anders' chest and belly underneath his shirt.

“You are one drunk mythical creature,” Anders states.

“Does that mean I shouldn't exist?” Mitchell asks him, bending low to kiss his collar bone.

“That means you're probably figure of my imagination,” Anders answers, “Made real only by inebriation.”

“Sometimes, I think it'd be nice to not exist,” Mitchell confesses.

“Well, maybe you don't,” Anders tells him, “For that matter, maybe I don't either. Better yet, maybe _we're_ the only ones that exist, and there's literally nothing outside these walls but space and air.”

“That's strangely romantic,” Mitchell chortles, “Uncharacteristically so.”

“Ply me up with enough alcohol, and that's what happens, apparently,” Anders shrugs, biting back a moan when he feels Mitchell grinding ever so subtly against him.

“I didn't say I didn't like it,” Mitchell breathes in his ear.

“Mr Vampire, you're trying to seduce me,” Anders says in his best Dustin Hoffman impression.

“Succeeding, by the feel of things,” Mitchell states, a hand cupping at the growing bulge between Anders' legs, “Hello there.”

“You're so gonna fucking pay for this,” Anders fake-threatens him.

“Looking forward to it,” Mitchell challenges, sealing the deal with a kiss that's far from chaste.

\--+--+--+--+--+--+--

By the time Anders wakes up, the moon is full in the sky, the night dark and deep. A refreshingly cool breeze is blowing in through the windows, and there's an owl hooting softly just outside.

Already nursing the beginnings of The World's Worst Hangover, it takes Anders a while to realize that other than the empties littering the floor, he's all alone in Mitchell's bed.

 

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	5. Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has had enough. He's got to find out. And by hook or by crook, he's going to.

_This is getting ri-goddamn-diculous_.

It's been two weeks since they started sleeping with each other. Two weeks of being committed to someone who's basically his polar opposite. Two weeks of mind-blowing sex that Anders never thought he'd be having with a guy, much less an immortal one. Two weeks of falling into bed with the same guy, and yet waking up alone.

 _Like I said – Re-goddamn-fucking-diculous_.

Anders has (rather grudgingly) gotten used to the feeling of bitterness everytime he wakes up and finds Mitchell gone, which has been _every single time_ , but what he's not used to is the feeling that he might not be _enough_. It's as if Mitchell leaves to get more of something he's missing. It's belittling, to say the fucking least. God help him, it's actually starting to make him feel... _insecure_.

Admittedly, underneath it all is a fascination for how a single person could make him care so much. Mitchell has changed him, and he's definitely a bit better for it. The fact that he could care about someone this much, while not completely alien, is comforting. He likes looking forward to seeing Mitchell, especially at the end of a long day. Dealing with Mike's crap, or Ty's emo-ness, or Axl's... _everything_ (when the fuck is the little shit going to accept that Gaia becoming Idunn had _nothing_ to do with him, seriously?!) has been a lot easier knowing that he can always complain to Mitchell about them later, and Mitchell won't try to justify them, but make him feel better anyway, even when he's wrong. And truth be told, sometimes all Mitchell needs to do to make him feel better is to smile that silly grin of his. It's become as much a part of his daily needs as food, or drink, or sex. To a certain extent, it's scary how much Mitchell has become a part of his life in the few months since he let him live with him in gratitude for saving his neck, but at the same time, it feels right. It feels _human_.

Which is why Anders has resolved to find out exactly where Mitchell disappears to everytime. At one point in his frustration, he actually considered asking Mike for help tracking Mitchell down, but Mike is an egomaniac and a shithead, and he doesn't need him. It's such a shame that his powers don't work on Mitchell, coz really, this could be so quick and painless. So he decides he'll just have to pretend to be asleep long enough for Mitchell to wake up and leave. He'll just have to follow him, although he's pretty sure Mitchell would find out. Still, if it's going to put his mind at ease, then why the fuck not. Mitchell can ki---No, he can't, that's a scary thing to say, coz Mitchell _can_ actually kill him if he wanted to.

_Note to self: be careful with figures of speech._

Nevertheless, Anders steels his decision, makes his plans, tells himself that if he doesn't find out tonight where Mitchell goes, he'll shave his head and swear off sex for about 7 years, because he'd rather do that than ask for Mike's help.

\--- + --- + --- + --- + --- + ---

Anders can't help smirking when he sees Mitchell's reaction when he opens his door.

“Trick or treat,” he greets, raising his hands to show Mitchell the bottle of wine he's holding in one hand and the glasses he's holding in the other.

“I'm pretty sure it's supposed to work the other way around,” Mitchell remarks, but he's doing that thing where his lower jaw drops slightly, parting his lips, and he's looking at Anders from beneath lowered lashes, and Anders knows Mitchell is just about half a glass away from being his tonight.

“So am I,” Anders replies, “But are you really going to complain?”

“Not if you get in here in the next 20 seconds,” Mitchell answers, pulling Anders to him by the shirt and kissing him hotly, “You are magical, you know that?”

“You have no idea,” Anders says, “A toast, then, I think.”

“What for?” asks Mitchell as he takes one of the glasses from Anders.

“Well, you've been here half a year,” Anders informs Mitchell a he fills his glass, “To the day, actually, and you've tried to kill me only once. I say that deserves celebration. Or a medal.”

“Fuck the medal,” Mitchell snorts as Anders fills his own glass.

“Well, you gotta get something,” Anders points out, “I gave Dawn a raise of one dollar each for every month she's had to put up with me. What do _you_ want?”

There is nothing unpredictable about the way Mitchell's pupils dilate, nor about the way his mouth curls in the corners. “What kind of a question is that?” he asks.

Anders raises his glass. “To you,” he toasts, “For being you.”

“Not always a good thing,” Mitchell scoffs.

“To me, it is,” Anders replies, and it's exactly the right thing to say, because when Mitchell downs his wine, he doesn't take his eyes off of Anders. Anders finishes his wine in one go, trying to fight down a smile, but not his erection.

Mitchell carelessly tosses his wine glass behind him, and it shatters into a few thousand pieces onto the floor. “Now?” he asks Anders.

Anders throws his glass out Mitchell's open window. “Now,” he confirms.

Mitchell wastes little time attacking Anders' lips with his, tearing at his clothes and letting himself be maneuvered towards his bed. His clothes soon join Anders' all over the room, and then Anders is pushing him onto the mattress.

“You are a drug, you know that?” Anders breathes into his ear, grabbing his cock and making him hiss, “A heady, addicting, rush-inducing, deliciously intoxicating drug, and I cannot fucking get enough of you.”

Mitchell lets out a strangled noise when Anders attaches his mouth to his throat, nipping and licking and sucking, all the while giving his manhood a few tight strokes.

“Jesus, Anders,” he manages to breathe out, clawing at his shoulders.

“I don't know whose brilliant idea it was to put you in my path,” Anders keeps going, grinding now into Mitchell's thigh, “But you're one of the best things that's ever happened to me. You're one of my favorite things in the world. You, this...You know sometimes I get hard just fucking thinking of you, and what you do to me, and what you _could_ do to me if we're not careful?”

“Ande _rrrrrr_ s,” Mitchell whines, practically butter in Anders' hands.

“You've done something to me, Mitch,” Anders sighs, kissing him gently in sharp contrast to the rough, determined movements of his hand around Mitchell's cock, “I didn't get it at first, but I do now.”

“Say it,” Mitchell pleads, hips bucking into Anders' fist, “Fucking say it. I wanna hear you say it.”

When Anders obeys, he does it right into Mitchell's ear, as if it's a direct line to his brain. His voice is barely above a whisper, but it's enough.

“I'm in love with you.”

Mitchell's moan is low, and his body slackens underneath Anders, save for the hand climbing up the back of his neck and into Anders' hair. He replies in a voice barely louder than the one Anders has just used.

“Fuck me.”

It's close enough, and all Anders needs.

\--- + --- + --- + --- + --- + ---

“Anders?”

Anders barely hears it, but it's Mitchell checking to see if he's awake. Anders closes his eyes quickly, just in case Mitchell decides to have a look. Mitchell kisses his temple, apparently satisfied that Anders is out cold, and then the bed is shifting beneath them both. Anders figures Mitchell is getting out of bed. There's a ruffling of clothes, and then the door closes quietly. Anders gives it a few more seconds to put some distance between them. When he's sure Mitchell has cleared the front porch, he gets up and dresses as well, and quickly debates taking the car to follow him, but when he sees Anders pass just outside the window (“Jesus!” he hisses, ducking back down onto the bed quickly), he decides against it. He finds a comfortable pair of shoes instead, hoping they'll be quiet on the floor, and is out the door as fast as possible, afraid he might lose Mitchell.

Following Mitchell is proving to be a little harder than Anders had first thought. He's pretty sure Mitchell can hear his every footstep, and at some point, Mitchell actually stops in his tracks and looks around. Anders ducks behind a tree, hoping against hope that Mitchell doesn't check around. Mitchell moves on, finding his way into the park.

It's an unusually dark night out, but the park is never empty. There's always a few people or couples milling around or fooling around, so Mitchell doesn't exactly look out of place when he sits himself down on an abandoned bench and lights a cigarette. Anders stays far enough to not be seen, but close enough so he can hear. He hopes the shadows will be enough to keep him from being spotted.

5 minutes...10 minutes...15 minutes...20 minutes...

Anders starts to think this was all a fruitless plan, that this is really all Mitchell does, and he's been a jerk to think there's been anything else going on. But then a short-skirted something in high heels with her cleavage from here to Mexico saunters over, and it's clear she's trying to make a little money off of him.

“Barking up the wrong tree, darlin',” Mitchell huffs, letting out some smoke and then inhaling it right back up his nose, momentarily creating this strange, circular cloud.

“I highly doubt that,” says the girl, “Come on, mate, you look like you could use a tumble or two.”

“No offense, sweetheart,” Mitchell tells her, “But do I honestly look like I need to pay to get what you're offering me?”

“Bit big in the britches, ain't ya?” she laughs, bending a little lower to try and seal the deal, and Anders can't help but think that if she wasn't so fucking easy, she'd probably be a pretty good lay.

“Wouldn't you like to know,” Mitchell mutters, “Honestly, hon, I'm not interested. In another life, maybe, or even a few months ago, but now? No thanks. Ply your trade somewhere else, I just came out here to think and be alone, that's all.”

The woman snorts, smirking. “Suit yourself,” she says, walking away, and Anders thinks that's the end of it.

But then Mitchell is watching her leave, seems to even be counting off or something in his head, and Anders knows that look. He knows that look way too well.

_Bastard._

“Hey,” he calls after her, and she stops and pivots on her heel as Mitchell gets up to join her, “Changed my mind. Can we go somewhere a little more private?”

The smile on the girl's face is ridiculous. Anders suddenly hates everything.

“Lead the way, handsome,” she says. Anders sees Mitchell smirk and give her the once-over, taking one last drag on the cigarette before throwing it on to the floor and stomping it out. He offers her his arm and when she takes it, they leave.

Anders doesn't move for what feels like an eternity or two. He's quite stunned, but mostly he's hurt. Actually hurt. More than just offended. _Actually fucking hurt_. Is this what Mitchell has been up to all this time? Is he really not enough? Was it all just words? Was this all just a game to Mitchell, just to see how much sway he's got over Anders?

Way too many questions, not enough answers. Anders momentarily entertains the thought of going back home and waiting for Mitchell in the living room with the lights turned off, turning them back on only when Mitchell walks back in, just like they do in the movies. By the time he decides he's probably not going to be able to wait that long to get some answers out of the little shit, he realizes he's been in the same spot way too long. Muttering a few curses, he comes out of his hiding place and looks around, trying to remember the direction Mitchell and his companion had walked in. He stands where Mitchell had been standing, and starts slowly looking around, squinting in the dim light of the streetlamps, hoping to catch any glimpse of him.

He finds Mitchell's silhouette walking further away from the park and away from Anders' house, and Anders marks it down as a plus – at least he had the foresight not to take her home. He walks as quickly as possible, knowing running would make some noise. He's nearly out of breath when he finally closes the distance. Mitchell rounds a corner into a dark, unlit alley. Anders waits against a wall, making sure to stay out of sight, and waits. He's not exactly sure why he's giving Mitchell time. Does he want to _literally_ catch him with his pants down? Is he letting Mitchell get his fill first, because it could definitely be the last time, because he's planning to lay the fucking law down? Is he just trying to come up with something to actually say to Mitchell?

Anders hears soft moaning, and he's pretty sure that's not Mitchell's voice. It's a maddening thought, imagining what the hell Mitchell might be doing to her to make her sound like that. Under normal circumstances, he'd probably be gradually getting hard just from the noises the girl is making, but he's too pissed off. In his head, he starts listing a few choice words he'd like Mitchell to never forget –

And then the girl screams.

It's shrill, panicked and abrupt, as if her mouth has been stifled or covered. Anders scrambles into the alley, only to be stopped cold.

Mitchell has the girl by the neck, up against a wall, her feet at least a foot off the ground. Mitchell's eyes are completely dark, and his fangs are bared.

“Holy fuck!” Anders exclaims, forgetting all sense of stealth.

Mitchell's head turns quickly in his direction, and his expression changes almost immediately. It's as if he comes back to himself, and then realizes exactly what Anders has seen. He lets the woman go, and she runs past Anders, crying in fear.

Anders and Mitchell stand at opposite ends of the alley, staring each other down, one in shame, the other in anger.

 

 

**~ _to be continued ~_**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested, I'm taking fic prompts over at my fic blog. Whether or not you've got a Tumblr, hit up my inbox at http://fanficcianawrites.tumblr.com/ask with a prompt for either Aidean, Britchell/Mitchers, Durincest, Gormitage or Richaidan.


	6. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat's out of the bag. Mitchell and Anders may be out of luck.

There's really only one way for this to end. They both know it. Neither of them want it. But they can both feel it. It's coming. It's going to happen. It's just a matter of who ducks and who doesn't.

“What the fuck is wrong with you.”

First attack.

“You fucking knew what the fuck was wrong with me the day you said I could stay.”

Counter attack.

“And STILL I let you stay.”

Critical hit, fire in the hole.

“You think I wanted this?” Mitchell protests, landing on the sofa, head in his hands, “You think I meant to become what---”

“Oh, don't fucking give me that speech, Mitchell, I've heard that a million and ten times,” Anders spits, “I've got it fucking memorized word for word, but it all boils down to the same thing – _you have a choice._ You've always had a choice, and you used to make the _better_ choice, until something fucking snapped, and now you're... _this_ , and I don't even fucking know what to do about it, so don't you fucking raise your voice at me because _I'm_ not the one who was just in an alley about to have a stranger for dinner.”

Anders used “duck.” It's super effective.

Mitchell just stares at him, but Anders just keeps going, as if he can't stop himself.

“You do this all the time, you know that?” Anders hisses, “Whenever you do something or you're feeling something, you pull out the victim card, and yes, Mitchell, we get it, you _are_ a goddamn victim, but holy shit, is that going to bring back anybody you've fed on? I worked so fucking hard, so goddamn fucking _hard_ , Mitchell, to help you keep making me the right choice, but you've fucking spit in my face! And for what? For what, Mitchell?”

“For you, you righteous bastard!” Mitchell hollers, suddenly standing and drawing himself up to his full height, “You think you get it, _you don't get it_ , you don't fucking get it. And yes, I'm going to give you the goddamn speech again because I think you need to hear it!”

“Well, you go right ahead,” Anders replies, “See if I fucking listen.”

“You bet your ass I'm gonna go right ahead with this,” Mitchell answers, “Because _you don't fucking get it_. You think I wanted this to happen to us? You think I _knew_ what was going to happen between you and me? You think I came here knowing I was going to find you and fall in love with you the way I did?”

“So now this is all _my_ fault?!” Anders yells back, pointedly ignoring the way Mitchell sighs and says that that isn't what he's saying, “What, you think _I_ wanted this too?! I was doing just fine before you came along! Before you, I had my pick of men and women, but then you crawled your way into my house, and into my life, and now all I can think of is _you_ , all I ever find myself wanting is _you_ , and I try to shake you off, but I fucking _can't_ , and you think I enjoy that?”

“I didn't ask for this!” Mitchell protests.

“Well, neither did I!” Anders answers.

Double knock-out.

Anders is panting, both with anger and exhaustion from shouting at Mitchell.

“I told you before, didn't I?” Mitchell tells him, voice softer now but no less distraught, “Love and sex isn't the same for me as it is for you, not anymore. Back in a life I wish I still had, maybe, but not now, not anymore. I don't think you understand the amount of control I need to cling to every fucking time. You have no idea how close I get to hurting you, and I know that, and I see that, and you're a dickhead sometimes, but the last thing I want is to hurt you.”

“So you take it out on other people?” Anders asks, incredulous.

“Would you rather be dead?” Mitchell shoots back, and Anders purses his lips, “Look, I'm not saying it's a great solution, but it worked. I was careful to pick and choose people who probably wouldn't be missed, people who probably have been missing for a while already anyway.”

“And that eases your conscience, does it?” Anders counters, “Didn't you tell me yourself once, Mitchell? Every person counts – they could be someone's kid, or parent, or sibling.”

“I know that, okay?” Mitchell answers, on the sofa again, rubbing at his temple, “I just...I had to _do_ something. I didn't mean to do it after that first night we slept together, but it just...I mean...it got so... _good_ , and I couldn't...”

If Anders wasn't so pissed with Mitchell, he'd have appreciated the compliment to his sexual prowess. As it stands though, it somehow doesn't matter in the moment.

“I came really close that first night,” Mitchell continues, sounding more sad than defensive now, “ _Way_ too close. I got scared. You fell asleep afterwards, but I could still hear you, and the blood in your pulse, your heartbeat...It was maddening. I couldn't shut it out. I thought if I took a walk I could calm down, but then this shabby little kid came to me in the park. All he wanted was some change, really. That's what most of them say. I hadn't gotten rid of...well, the _thing_ , and the kid wouldn't leave me alone...”

“God, Mitchell,” Anders sighs, sinking into a chair at the dining table, “You should've said something. Why didn't you tell me in the first place?”

“Because I'm selfish and I'm an idiot, that's why,” Mitchell replies, “Because I haven't had anyone to commit to in a long time. Because no one has committed to me like you have in a long time. Because I wanted to stay. Because I don't have anywhere else to go. I saw my troops die, watched my friends die, my family die...I literally have no one else, Anders, and you were so ready with your acceptance and your home, and your...everything. You're not the world's most charming person, and sometimes I'm convinced you need me more than I need you, but the fact of the matter is that I thought I needed you. I think I still do. I _know_ I do.”

It's like a love confession or something. It both irritates Anders and makes him want to grab Mitchell, throw him against a wall and do unspeakable things to him. He knows what needs to be done though, and it's not the latter.

_There's really only one way for this to end._

“You're going to have to find someone else to need, mate,” Anders murmurs, glaring at the floor as if this is the floor's fault.

“Fuck,” he hears Mitchell breathe, “Don't do this, Anders. Not now. Not like this.”

“We're not good for each other, Mitchell,” Anders points out, “I changed way too much. I don't feel like myself anymore. And yeah, you're right, I'm not a great person, but I've always been fine being me. And I haven't been me in a long time. And clearly, whatever it is I am now isn't good for you either.”

“So that's it then, is it?” Mitchell replies, “This is me being dumped, is it?”

“We can't very well carry on like this, can we?” Anders asks as answer, “Not with you going for second helpings every night, and me being...whatever the hell it is I am now, I'm still trying to figure it out. We're fucked, Mitchell, and not in a good way either.”

A tense silence settles, but it doesn't last. Suddenly Mitchell is up off the sofa, storming into his room and slamming the door, and that's the end of it for the night. Anders rubs a hand over his face and into his hair.

That was harder than he thought it would be.

–- + --- + --- + --- + --- + --- + --- + ---

It's a few days later that Mitchell decides to re-emerge from his room. It seems he waited all day for Anders to come back from work before coming out, and for a few long seconds, they just stare at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“I'm leaving,” Mitchell says at last, and Anders can see packed bags in Mitchell's room, “For good.”

“Where are you going?” Anders asks him, hands in his pockets, a lot sadder than he'd like to admit to anyone, even himself.

“Back to England,” replies Mitchell, shrugging, “Cardiff, maybe. I know someone who lives there. It's nice and quiet there. Lots of little towns that don't have a lot of people in it.”

“Sounds great,” Anders answers distractedly, “Will you be okay? How are you getting there? You don't have a passport because you can't have a picture taken.”

“I've got my ways,” Mitchell says with another shrug, and it's obvious that a sly smirk is tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Hey, for what it's worth...I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Anders tells him, trying to sound dismissive, “It was fun while it lasted, no matter what I may have said the other night.”

“It was though,” Mitchell answers, and he gives Anders that trademark boyish smile, “I think I might even miss you.”

“I'm sure you won't,” Anders chuckles, “I'm sure you'll make a couple of nice new friends to need and live with who'll, you know, join you for dinner instead of _being_ dinner themselves.”

“Wanker,” Mitchell mutters.

“Yes, yes I am,” Anders answers. They share a brief laugh at that, and then Mitchell is fetching his bags, and it all seems so strange to Anders. It's not everybody who comes through his doors that he actually wishes would stay a little longer. But it's too late to take any of it back, and it's much better this way.

_Isn't it?_

“Can I ask you one last thing?” Anders asks just as Mitchell walks past him to the front door.

“Shoot,” Mitchell agrees.

“You've had so many chances to off me,” Anders tells him, “I'm sure you wanted to. Or you could have at least made me like you. Why didn't you ever?”

“You'd make an awful vampire, that's why,” Mitchell laughs, “I think you're enough of a bane on humanity the way you are now, you're the last person that should be immortal.”

“Fair enough,” Anders agrees, holding his hand out to Mitchell to shake his hand. Mitchell stares at it curiously, and when he takes it, it's not to shake his hand. He pulls Anders in and kisses him instead. It's enough to startle a sharp breath out of Anders, but it doesn't last long enough for him to respond properly.

“Sorry,” Mitchell says, blushing slightly, “I just...you were too close, I could smell you. Couldn't help myself.”

“S'okay,” Anders replies, clearing his throat, “It's better than a slap, heaven knows I've gotten a lot of those from other people in your spot.”

Mitchell laughs a little at that, giving him a small smile. “Well...” he trails off, “Bye then.”

“See you around, Mitchie boy,” Anders returns. And that's it, Mitchell's out the door, and out of his life, albeit meeting Gaia on his way out.

–- + --- + --- + --- + --- + --- + --- + ---

They don't hear from each other again.

Dealing with his family and his god problems has all but wiped Mitchell from Anders' mind. Gaia has taken to living with Anders; apparently Axl couldn't take her pining and whining anymore, and has let bygones be bygones.

Anders doesn't have much of a choice, Gaia's a much better person than a lot of people who have walked through his door. Besides, it's not like Gaia being Idunn is _his_ fault. Still, he looks after her, makes sure she's comfortable, avoids fucking her for as long as he possibly can, no matter how much they both really want it.

He owes Axl that much.

Mitchell makes it to Cardiff in one piece. No one knows him here, no one cares. If he misses Anders at all, he can't really feel it anymore, not with how much he ends up drinking every night. He gets a job working at a hospital as a janitor. It doesn't pay much, but he gets himself a steady source of blood without having to kill anyone. He's surviving, just as he always has.

Two weeks after he's settled in, he finds himself in yet another bar, drinking himself blind for reasons he doesn't even really remember anymore. On his way out, a strong smell of something familiar and hostile nearly knocks him off his feet. He finds the source of it being beaten to death by three other vampires in a back alley, and really, that could have been it. He could have walked away and let them finish, or maybe finish the poor sod off himself, but he doesn't. He makes quick work of the little shits, and just in the nick of time; the guy looks half dead by the time Mitchell has dispatched them. Mitchell's nose wrinkles just a little bit when he realizes what the smell is, but there's no way he can just leave him there to bleed to death. Taking him to the hospital won't be a problem; this kid's blood doesn't appeal to him in any way at _all_. That blood is already dirty and sullied enough without him touching it.

“George,” the kid says his name is. For a while, Mitchell wonders how someone so meek and unassuming could have been made into a werewolf, but then he just stops caring. He probably won't be seeing him again after he's done at the hospital anyway.

 

_**~ END. ~** _

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's wondering, yes, my headcanon for this pairing is that they met and had a relationship BEFORE Mitchell met George.
> 
> So to clear up the timeline - my headcanon is that all the events of TAJ occur in the space BEFORE Mitchell meets George in Being Human. Just because I wanted the story to end the way it did.
> 
> Thanks to everybody who clung on to this fic. It wasn't supposed to go past a second chapter, and yet here it is, 6 chapters long. Can't tell you all how much I appreciate you guys coming to read my work and leaving me kudos and feedback. Hope you guys come back around for my next multi-chaptered story too.


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